


i would not think to touch the sky

by stellahibernis



Series: this is not how we fall in love [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 01:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4588425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellahibernis/pseuds/stellahibernis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Bucky never wanted to fight in a war; he didn’t dream of the glory of the battlefield as a boy. If he had a choice, he’d want to live a normal life in peace that lasted all his life, but it wasn’t to be. As the fates would have it, the war came when he was just the right age for service, there was the letter telling his name had come up and here he is now. He knows this is a war that needs to be fought, needs to be won by the Allied forces, and he will do the best he can, he will try to get through this, and hopefully go home in the end.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>***</i>
</p><p><i>There is the boredom of the long missions, but there is also camaraderie, joking in the group or just with Steve, sitting quiet around a campfire. Telling an outrageous joke and getting hip-checked so hard by Steve that he ends up falling in the river. In the end the whole group is stumbling out of the river dripping wet and barely able to stand because they’re all laughing so hard</i>.</p><p>***</p><p>Bucky at war 1943 - 1945</p>
            </blockquote>





	i would not think to touch the sky

**Author's Note:**

> About the content, there is a short passage about the war and injuries that's a bit more descriptive than canon, but not very graphic.

The ship is full, full of men going to war, all of them hoping to return on this ship or another, all of them knowing they may never see home again. Bucky starts writing the first letter on the first night away, and some of the others tease he must have it bad for some lady; to not be able to abide even until Europe. He doesn’t say anything to it, just keeps writing. He addresses the finished letter and places it inside his book. It never gets sent.

The summer in Europe is hot and strange, the smells nothing like a boy grown in a city would have gotten used to. He tries to see as much as he can while he’s not yet on the battlefield, but it’s difficult to concentrate on anything but the tension running high among the troops. They all feel it, know it’s there, but there’s not much they can do about it. The closer they get, the jokes get rowdier, the laughter more boisterous. They’re all afraid, even those who don’t know it themselves. Bucky sees it all too clearly.

He recognizes he’s afraid, but it’s nothing new to him. There have been countless times in his life that he’s known this sensation, the fear of death. (His hand splayed on a narrow chest, feeling the erratic, too faint heartbeat, willing it to last for another night.)  It doesn’t matter that this is the first time he fears for his own life. It’s still familiar, and he knows what to do. He will face it, he will take it and use it, let it power him on, never let it defeat him. He knows how to handle the fear, and he also knows there are others who won’t know until it’s too late. It might cost them their lives, and if he’s not careful, his life as well.

Bucky never wanted to fight in a war; he didn’t dream of the glory of the battlefield as a boy. If he had a choice, he’d want to live a normal life in peace that lasted all his life, but it wasn’t to be. As the fates would have it, the war came when he was just the right age for service, there was the letter telling his name had come up and here he is now. He knows this is a war that needs to be fought, needs to be won by the Allied forces, and he will do the best he can, he will try to get through this, and hopefully go home in the end.

When the new troops reach the camp they meet men that already know battle, and they all have the same thing to say to the newcomers. It’s worse than anything they could imagine. Bucky doesn’t need them to say that, he can see it in their haunted eyes, in their hyper-aware posture. And he already knew it before, and he knows he still doesn’t know anything about the reality of the war. All he knows is that he will have to do whatever he can to make it through.

There is a weird quiet right before the attack. All his senses seem heightened; everything is sharp and clear when he looks through the scope mounted on his rifle. He can hear the wind shivering in the trees, the men nearby shifting on the ground. His own breathing is loud in his ears, too fast, too scared. Still, the smell of the earth he’s lying on is familiar, reassuring. It’s almost peaceful, until it all explodes with noise.

There is a moment of pure panic when he can’t remember anything, doesn’t know what to do. From the corner of his eye he sees someone curl up into a ball. The man must be screaming, crying, but Bucky can’t hear anything but his own heart beating in his ears. His hands grip the rifle tighter, and suddenly the training kicks in; he raises the gun, looks through the scope, aims and squeezes the trigger. The target goes down, and his hands are already completing the motions; eject, reload, aim, pull the trigger. Eject, reload, aim, kill. His heartbeat slows down, his breathing is more even; in, squeeze, out. Calm flows like ice in his veins and he isn’t afraid anymore. He can do this.

After, he stands among his comrades, the fallen and those who will fight another day. There’s blood on his face but it’s not his, neither is the blood on his hands. He stares at the bright red spots and wonders at how easy it had been to pull the trigger, to take a life.

 

***

 

Bucky settles into a rhythm of sorts in the warm European summer. The thing that surprises him the most is the boredom; sometimes it feels like they wait for days on end and nothing happens. He knows he should be grateful for the boredom, for the endless marches and long days, because everything else is worse. He knows it is worse, and yet, when he’s crouching in the trenches or is on patrol, there’s a sense of purpose, of doing something. It’s something he misses on the boring days, because for years he’s filled his days with purpose and suddenly not having any besides the big shared goal is strange. (Making sure there’s work, trying to make ends meet, not just for himself. More important in the winters, when it’s harder to keep work, and there’s more need for money.) Exchanging stories, trading cigarettes, just sitting around, it puts him on edge. He writes more letters, and he’s more careful about what he says in them. They all get sent.

He only receives one letter in return. It comes when the summer is already nearing its end, although from it he understands there have been others that never made it to him, and he can’t help but wonder what was in them. But Steve sounds more hopeful than he had expected, says he’s fine and has work. It’s all good. Bucky is grateful there’s no mention of Steve’s hopes of joining the army. He’d like to think Steve’s given up, but he knows him better than that. It would be the first time Steve stepped out of a fight, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever see that happening. It’s not a very long letter, Steve never had trouble chatting away hours at a time when he felt like it, but putting words on paper is different, it’s never been Steve’s strong suit. On the other side of the paper is a sketch of Brooklyn from the rooftop of their building.

It rains the next day and he’s huddling underneath the feeble cover of some branches, trying to stay as dry as possible. The summer has made things easier but now he can definitely feel autumn in the air, and he can foresee an endless string of days when it’ll be difficult to ever get warm, when they’ll be dragging their feet in the mud for endless miles. Water starts to trickle down his neck and he knows he’ll be soaked through in no time, but his own discomfort is not the first thing in his mind. Because the worse the conditions get, the more horrible the day, the more grateful he is that Steve’s not there with him.

And it’s probably terrible of him, because it’s Steve’s weak body and the multitude of illnesses that prevented him from joining the army. During the time Bucky has known Steve, ever since he could understand, he’s cursed them, wanted them gone. Because it’s Steve, he doesn’t deserve all the hardship, doesn’t deserve to be in pain. And yet, now he is almost grateful for them, because they keep Steve away from the war he so badly wanted to join. Bucky doesn’t want to think what it says about him, but he knows he’d rather Steve was sick and back in New York than healthy and in Europe with him. Because he knows, he can see it as if it was happening right in front of his eyes, that Steve would take stupid risks, would try to save people that were beyond saving, and then, very likely, Bucky would have to see him go down. Bucky’s already seen how it goes, heroics last only for so long before the heroes pay for them with their lives. And he knows he couldn’t take it, couldn’t bear to watch Steve die like that.

Not everyone shares his views about heroics though; at the camp there are comic books passed around. He only takes a glance before giving it away. This Captain America is nothing like the reality on the trenches. There are no heroes, just regular men like him, and he knows that one man can’t win the day, whatever the comic books say.

 

***

 

It’s another night and it’s cold in the trenches. It’s not odd, by now he’s so numb of it all that this is almost routine for him, just another day, another night trying to dodge the death breathing down his neck. This time he feels uneasy, more so than usual, unlike he’s ever felt here on European soil. They’re far away from the base camp, dug into their positions, holding their own. It’s risky, he knows, but then, everything is risky. There’s nothing new about any of this. He thought he’d gotten used to all of this, and the calm that had come to him in that first fight he had taken part in had become a constant companion. Now it’s gone, and he can’t shake the feeling, almost a premonition, that something bad is about to happen. He tries to drown it by concentrating on working with his rifle, taking down as many enemies as he can. It just won’t go away.

And then he sees it, the big tank, the men in unfamiliar uniforms, the guns dealing blue death. All he can think of is, _This can’t be real. I must have fallen asleep. It is a dream._

But it’s not, or if it is, he doesn’t wake up. The survivors are captured and marched to a base unlike any he’s seen. They’re kept in small cages, five or six in each. He gets to know the men in his group fairly well while they work and wait and slowly lose hope.

Countless times he finds himself wishing he was dreaming, wishing he would wake up, and then he silently scolds himself for it, because he knows it’ll lead to madness. They work, and even if he’s used to long hours on the docks in Brooklyn, used to the war, this is harder. They can barely sleep even though they’re all exhausted, and there isn’t much food to speak of. The punishment for any mistake, or sometimes for nothing at all, is a cruel beating. He starts to lose time, sometimes the shifts seem to be over almost instantly. He has no idea how long they’ve been prisoners when the guards come, as they sometimes do, to drag one of them out never to be seen again. This time it’s his turn.

They make him lie on a table and tie him down. He tries to struggle free but by now the hard work, injuries and lack of food have left him weak, and the restraints hold. He’s nearly blinded when the lights over the table are turned on and can barely see the man that comes by. He’s short and past his best years. Bucky remembers seeing him in the factory, walking with the officers. Then he’d seemed timid and uncertain, but now he’s like a different man, standing straight and speaking with authority. And again Bucky’s scared; he suddenly knows that this is a point of no return, nothing will be the same after this, even if he somehow manages to free himself.

Zola, as his assistants call him, pushes Bucky’s sleeve up and picks up a syringe filled with greyish blue liquid. The needle is a tiny prick at his forearm, barely noticeable in itself, but whatever was in it has an immediate effect. Bucky’s vision blurs, waves of hot and cold fluctuate through his body, and his head feels like it’s been pierced by hundreds of needles. It hurts more than anything he’s ever experienced, more than anything he’s ever imagined. He’s rapidly losing consciousness, and it’s more than that, he knows with the last bit of clarity. He’s dying. Whatever they gave him is killing him and there’s nothing he can do, nothing that will save him. It’s the end and nothing matters anymore. He should just let go.

Except. There is a sudden thought, clear and separate from the pain. _If I die here and now Steve will never know what happened._ He clings to it until the darkness finally takes him.

 

***

 

“Sergeant James Barnes 32557038 Sergeant James Barnes 32557038 Sergeant James Barnes 32557038 Sergeant James Barnes 32557038 Sergeant James Barnes 32557038 Sergeant James Barnes 32557038 Sergeant James Barnes 32557038 Sergeant James Barnes 32557038 Sergeant James Barnes 32557038 Sergeant James Barnes 32557038 Sergeant James Barnes 32557038 Sergeant James Barnes 32557038…”

A voice calls his name, at first distant and tinny in his ears, then clear and unmistakable, as is the face above him. “Steve.” He’s relieved, everything is alright, it was all a dream, he’s at home. Except he’s still lying on a cold table and Steve is pulling at the restraints that break like they were meant to hold children, not fully grown soldiers. And then Steve pulls him off the table, strong hands holding Bucky up and steady, and he’s taller, and this can’t be right. Only his eyes, clearly blue even in the dimly lit room, are  just as he remembers, they look at Bucky with such familiar worry.

“I thought you were dead,” relief clear in Steve’s voice that vibrates through his chest into Bucky’s hands.

“I thought you were smaller.”

That’s it, for Bucky, the thing he can’t get his head around. Because he was sure, so sure, that Steve was always small and sickly, someone who would never be allowed to enlist, and yet here he is, healthy and tall and strong, like he always deserved to be. He would think this is a hallucination, a figment of his imagination generated by pain and drugs, except it feels real, more so than anything he remembers feeling since stepping into the ship to Europe. It’s like every fiber of his being is yelling at him. _This is Steve._ He can’t doubt it, so he doubts his memory. Would it be possible that somehow, in the war and during his imprisonment, he somehow got confused, imagined Steve in his memories into something he wasn’t, something less? That doesn’t seem likely either, no matter how terrible the the things that happened to him. Because why would he imagine Steve sick and frail, if it wasn’t true?

He lets Steve pull him away from the room, and he asks, dreading the answer, but he has to know. And somehow, the answer seems logical, especially after everything he’s seen, a miracle serum that made Steve bigger and stronger. Not to mention, it absolutely is something Steve would sign up for, in his hope to be useful. Bucky accepts it for now, although he’s sure it’ll feel stranger later when they are in safety.

If they get to safety, because there is a man with a red face with Zola and he’s so strong, but Steve is strong now too, and he really doesn’t know what would have happened if Zola had not pulled the bridge back. Instead they are left trying to get out of an exploding factory, and he has to stare across a chasm of fire, with Steve on the other side and he just knows he’ll die here, because there’s no way he’ll leave Steve behind.

And of course he doesn’t die, because there are still miracles left for him, and he can’t help but wonder if he’s used up the last of them when his hand closes around Steve’s to help him over the railing. They run, and he finds he doesn’t care, because this day they will make it.

 

***

 

It’s only at the base camp, when everything has quieted down a bit, that he lets himself think about all that has happened. On the way back he worked with Steve, helped him in getting to know the men and facilitating the journey. It was amazing how everyone responded to Steve, they listened to him and followed his orders instantly. And Steve fell naturally in the role of leader, as if he had always been one, even though based on what he’d managed to tell Bucky, this was new to him as well. Even with the enemy base gone, things were still tense on the march, and he had just concentrated on keeping an eye on everything. After coming to camp there was celebration, debriefings and medical checks, until he had finally gotten away.

Now he’s sitting at the edge of the camp, almost invisible in the shadows, smoking a cigarette he’d been given after medical. The smoke feels familiar in his lungs, but it doesn’t calm him down like it usually does. The medical examination had cleared him, noted some bruising on his ribs but nothing serious. He pulls his sleeve up a bit, feeling the unbroken skin. He’s not sure how long he was restrained, but it must have been a significant amount of time, and he knows he pulled at his restraints, at least in the beginning. Surely there should be marks on his wrists. He’s also sure he was injured more seriously even before they took him to Zola. There couldn’t have been enough time to heal, and yet he seems to be mostly fine. Then there are the hazy memories of somebody cutting into his flesh, but he dismisses those as hallucinations, because there’s no evidence of that ever happening, not even a scar.

Then there’s Steve, as he is now, and suddenly everything feels like a hallucination, a mix of real and unreal. He grabs his dog tags and holds onto them so tightly that it feels like the metal is cutting into his skin. They are real, and they have his name on them. He’s also real. It’s the only thing he’s sure of now.

Steve’s steps are unexpectedly quiet now that he’s so much bigger, and he just seems to materialise out of thin air next to Bucky. If it was anyone else, he would have been startled, but there’s just something about Steve that instantly puts him to ease. Steve sits down next to him, but they don’t talk for a while. Steve had of course been in demand by everyone after they’d come back, and he had thought he might not see his friend at all until the next day perhaps, and it had felt strange. He is happy for Steve, happy that everyone finally seems to see him, but it’s a mixed emotion. He recognises it and he isn’t proud of it but it’s true.

Right after they’d come back he’d called for everyone to cheer for Captain America, and they had, and it had been great for a moment, but that was also when it all had really hit him. It was only then he’d truly realised that Steve was there, on the front lines and would be in constant danger from now on. This is the last thing Bucky wanted, his last solace of knowing that at least Steve was safe is gone. It will be so much worse from now on.

Another thing that strikes him is that the others don’t see Steve the same way he does. Despite all the changes, what he sees is his friend, the actual person. And the others see Captain America, the fable from the silly comics that have suddenly come true, something other than an actual person. Some might say they see more than a person, but everything in Bucky rebels against this view. How can a simple legend, no matter how real it has become and however much his best friend embodies it, be more than a human being and all the complexities? A legend can never contain all the suffering, the anger, the confusion, the goodness and the stubborn will that is the Steve he knows.

All that had been so clear in the light of day; he had been so sure he still knew Steve, but now in the darkness the man next to him cuts such an unfamiliar figure that he again finds himself wondering if he’s dreaming after all. Because it is crazy. He’s always been interested in science, he’s read all he could get his hands on and he knows they can do amazing, unbelievable things, but still. This should be impossible. He grips his dog tags a little bit harder, and they bite into his flesh with a reassuring pain.

“Did they just send you alone to try and free us? They’re really crazy if they believe all those comic books,” Bucky says, just to talk about something, desperately trying to find the belief that it’s all real.

Steve lets out an amused huff that is just like he remembers it. “Of course they didn’t. They didn’t, and maybe still don’t, want me on the front lines. They wanted to keep me as their propaganda tool or inside a lab for research. It’s not really what I thought I signed up for.”

“So what, you were here doing whatever, heard that a bunch of men had been taken prisoner and decided to just take a trip and set them free. Because it sounds like the kind of a stupid thing you would do.” Bucky almost laughs because it’s funny how _Steve_ it all is, and he also wants to cry because this is exactly the kind of thing he never wanted to happen. But he does neither, because next to him Steve has gone all still and quiet. “What?”

“Thing is,” Steve starts slowly, “maybe it’s not the kind of thing I would do. It should, I guess, however stupid it is, but it’s not really what happened. I heard about all those men being captured and it wasn’t the thing that made me go. I thought the brass would do the best they could, and that was that, it wasn’t really my place. I had my own duties, even if I didn’t much like them, and it didn’t somehow feel real, then. It was only when I heard it was your unit that I came. So there’s some heroics of Captain America for you; it wasn’t all those men, it was my best friend. It was that I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. All selfishness, really.”

Bucky just stares at Steve who finally looks at him, after this weird confession. “That’s even more stupid,” he says, but there’s no heat to it. He grips his tags still tighter. This is even worse than he had thought; he always knew there was a will to do great things in Steve, and that it would be bad on the battlefield, but that he would go all that way just for him, it is too much. _And_ , a part of him asks, _is it really so surprising?_ Because he would do just the same for Steve. It’s all too much and he hopes more than anything that it’s not real, and he hopes that it is real, because otherwise he’s lost.

And then Steve’s hands are there, bigger and warmer than he remembers, but still somehow familiar, and they gently pry his fist open from around his tags and smooth out the marks left on his palm. His skin isn’t broken after all. Steve’s touch grounds him, and he feels the words come out of him in a rush, voicing thoughts he didn’t even know he had.

“I feel like it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s not. You look like that and yet you’re still you, and it should be impossible. Sometimes I think I’m still on that table and it’s all a dream.”

“Can I do something to help? Anything.”

“That’s a rash promise because you wouldn’t go home even if I asked. Although I guess it’s not even your choice anymore. You just have to do what they tell you.”

“Yeah, and I’m doing such a good job at that. But you’re right, I couldn’t just leave. Wouldn’t want to. Anything else, though.”

Bucky’s not at all surprised that Steve doesn’t question him why he would ask that. Of course Steve knows his motivations, always has. Sometimes it feels like Steve knows better than he does himself, and it’s a thought he firmly banishes from his mind, doesn’t want to examine what it means. But it’s a little bit easier talking like this, in the darkness.

“You are helping already,” he says, idly noticing that Steve still hasn’t let go of his hand. “In there, it was hard to know what was real and what wasn’t, I never could tell for sure if I was dreaming. All I had that I knew was true was what they taught us; name, rank, number. It was real. And even now, that’s real, but I’m not sure about everything else. And like this, with you, I can tell you’re real too, no matter that you’re big as a house now. But other times, I don’t know if I made that up as well.”

Steve just looks at him for a while, and Bucky finds himself wondering how much the serum affected Steve’s eyesight. Before he’d had hard time in the dark, but now he didn’t seem to have any of the usual difficulties. Steve doesn’t let go of his hand, but reaches with the other to hold his tags for a while, clearly thinking. Then he reaches inside his uniform (new, regular Captain’s uniform instead of the one he’d worn before) and takes out his own tags. He works the shorter chain free and then, very deliberately, fastens it to the chain around Bucky’s neck and wraps the hand he’d been holding around it. Bucky runs his fingertips over the tag and can just about make out Steve’s name. He understands the intent of the gesture, and strangely, it does work. He does feel more grounded.

“Hardly regulation, Rogers,” he says, and it feel so inadequate, but Steve smiles. Even in the dark it’s warm and bright.

“I thought we already established I’m not big on regulation.” It comes out joking, but then Steve turns serious. “I don’t care about that, I only want to help you.”

“Yeah, okay.” He’s always found it difficult to face Steve when he has this particular way of sounding sincere. “It’ll look weird, though, if I have three tags and you only one.”

Before he can think himself out of it, Bucky unclasps his tag that’s on the short chain and fastens it next to Steve’s remaining tag, and tucks them back into Steve’s shirt for good measure. He does the same for his own as well, steadfastly refusing to think what it all means. Next to him Steve, still smiling bumps his shoulder with his own.

 

***

 

They go to London and there are more debriefings, more medical tests, more planning. Steve seems to be right at home with officers (other officers really, he is a captain after all, even if it came in an unconventional way) and other SSR personnel. Bucky spends most of the time with the men he’d shared the cage with while HYDRA’s prisoner. On the march back they’d turned out to make a functional group, something Steve had also noticed. He doesn’t have to be a mind reader or to ask Steve to know what he has on mind, because as always, he knows what Steve will ask of them. And he knows what Steve will ask of him.

He’s been told that because he was a prisoner and was tortured, he could go home if he wanted to. An honorable discharge. They even gave him time to think about it, and he has, although he always knew he really doesn’t have a choice. He would like nothing better than to go home, to be done with war, but he can’t do that. Steve is here now, and he is going to try and take down HYDRA, crazy as it is. And Bucky will go with Steve, it’s simple as that. It’s his only choice, so much so there even isn’t a choice, not really. But this isn’t what he wants for himself, and this isn’t what he wants for Steve. Only the world these days doesn’t seem to much care about what he wants.

One morning he wakes up from a dream where they were back in New York, and there never had been a war. Steve was still as he used to be, and it wasn’t an easy life, but they made do somehow, and it was good. He doesn’t quite remember the particulars of the dream, but as he wakes up, the feeling of happiness still lingers with him, and the disappointment when he remembers the reality is bitter.

Everyone knows he knew Steve before the war, and they often ask how it was to be friends with Captain America. He never knows how to answer, because really, he never was best friends with Captain America. He doesn’t think the others would appreciate nor even want to hear stories of their struggle to get by day after day, and more than that, he has some difficulty defining their relationship to other people. They are best friends and grew up very close, but it feels inadequate to describe it like that. It’s too simple and all too complicated at the same time. To him, Steve is _Steve_. It’s not something he can put into words.

They are at a bar and everyone is feeling festive, just being able to relax away from the battlefield. Bucky’s sitting alone at the bar, third glass of whisky almost finished. The alcohol doesn’t seem to have any effect on him and he wonders if it’s just that he’s forgotten how the early signs of getting drunk feel. Maybe he’s just so numbed by all that he’s experienced. That realisation should perhaps be a sign for him to stop drinking, but he doesn’t. He drains the glass and signals for another.

Steve, looking pristine in his uniform, is sitting at a table with their new friends. They had talked about it earlier, when Steve had mulled over the plans to assemble a team to go after HYDRA that he would lead. He wants to pick the men himself, because first and foremost he needs a team that functions well, not one that consists of a group of best in every division and where egos will be plentiful. He’d asked Bucky’s opinion, and they had agreed on most things. They know that the core group should be relatively small, and then depending on mission it could be expanded. It hadn’t escaped Bucky that Steve had carefully avoided talking like they were both going and hadn’t asked him yet. He wonders if it was because he had just days ago said the whole idea of going against HYDRA was madness. He still thinks that way. It’s perhaps the best chance they have but it’s madness still.

He watches as their friends one after another agree to go with Steve, and he’s again struck with a strong sense of premonition. He knows this right here is one of those significant moments; he’s watching history being made. It is inevitable that in years to come they will be read about in books and this moment will be pointed at as a start of something, he doesn’t yet know exactly what. And soon, he himself will be part of that history. Because the only way they will not be read about in history books will be if they fail, and fail so badly that the whole world will be unrecognisable. That’s not an option. Not for Steve. And not for him. He drains his glass, and still he’s not drunk.

The bartender fills his glass even without him asking while he watches Steve get up and make his way toward him. Again he notices how impeccable Steve looks, and it really feels odd to see the captain’s bars on his shoulders, somehow they make it all real once more. He still struggles day to day to believe this is all real, all happening, and in a way he wants to get back into the field, to the place where he can wrap himself into the icy calm that lets him to concentrate on his task alone and not think about anything else. He wants to pull out his tags or maybe adjust his collar, because he knows he himself is definitely not looking impeccable. Instead he takes another sip out of his glass.

Steve sits down next to him and here it comes, the question. Steve finally puts it on the table. He had wondered how it would go in the end, what the words would be, would it be short and simple or would it be difficult and awkward? He hadn’t expected for it to come out like this, though, joking, almost self-deprecating, will he follow Captain America. And no, of course he will not. The others will, everyone here believes in Captain America except him. He still doesn’t believe in heroes, not here, not in the war, but he does believe in Steve. Steve, who is still the same punk kid who didn’t know how to back out from a fight, and better and more important than any symbolic figure in tights the government cooked up. So he says yes, as he was always going to, and, he believes, as he always will. Just as Steve doesn’t have it in him to back out from a fight, Bucky doesn’t have it in him to say no to Steve.

And now Steve looks self-conscious, for the first time since Bucky had seen him in New York, he looks away and down, a little smile on his lips. It’s rather funny, because he had been so calm and sure when he’d fastened one his tags on Bucky’s chain, and how is this anything compared to that, it’s really nothing. But here they are, he has basically told Steve that he is the one worth following, not Captain America, and suddenly Bucky feels warm and lightheaded. Maybe the whisky finally has done its job, none too soon. And maybe it’s the whisky talking, maybe it’s that he does understand the importance of symbols even if he doesn’t believe in them that makes him suggest Steve keep the outfit. And then, Steve _looks_ at him and a wave of warmth crashes over him, and dimly he thinks maybe it’s not the alcohol at all, and what can he even say here?

Turns out he doesn’t have to say anything.

Agent Carter looks great in the red dress, and Bucky knows she knows it, it’s all deliberate. And he also knows why she came in dressed like that when she only has eyes for Steve. It’s a funny feeling, like he’s losing when she doesn’t properly even acknowledge him, he even alludes to that to Steve. Thing is though, he didn’t really want to dance with her. Of course she’s pretty and would be worth anyone’s time, and maybe he should have wanted that, only he didn’t. It is clear as day the way she looks at Steve, and more than that maybe, the way Steve looks at her. Bucky tells himself he asked to see what she would do, because if she said yes now to him, it would mean she wasn’t worthy of Steve. And truth is, the ugly truth, that he wanted her to say yes. Wanted her to show she’s not good enough, because how could she be? She is like all of these others, she came into Steve’s life so much later, and how could she even care about Steve when Captain America is all she ever saw.

But at least she doesn’t go for anyone else, and at least Steve now has this, has someone he clearly likes and respects looking at him. Bucky knows he should be happy, because this is something he so many times tried to make happen (even though he doesn’t remember being too hopeful, however much he protested). Instead he just feels like he’s suddenly losing Steve, even though it’s not even logical. He knows Steve, he knows they’re friends and he knows it won’t end if Agent Carter becomes a part of Steve’s life.

 

***

 

The next morning he wakes up and sets to work on his rifle. He sits crosslegged on his floor and takes it apart, carefully checking every piece before laying them in front of him. He makes sure that everything is in perfect order before reassembling it. The work is soothing, and he almost forgets that Steve is at the headquarters with Agent Carter. Almost.

Later the team is summoned and they are briefed on everything they need to do before they depart on their first mission. They need to get their equipment in order, learn how to use communications devices and memorize codes for safe communication. They aren’t yet briefed on the details of their first mission, but all of them know what they will do, the details are just surface.

Stark offers Bucky a new rifle, and he tests a few options, but in the end he decides to keep the one he already had. He does take a new, more precise scope though. He gets measured for a new uniform as well. They will mostly continue wearing the things they already had, only broken and threadbare things get replaced. He also gets a blue jacket, which perhaps isn’t ideal for taking cover as a sniper, but he likes how it goes with Steve’s uniform, which definitely isn’t meant for covert operations, what with the target on the shield and all.

During the days they spend getting ready, he notices there is something different between Steve and Agent Carter. He knows something has happened, she’s clearly angry and he doesn’t quite know how to respond to it. They’re both professional, though, and don’t let whatever has happened affect the job they’ve got on hand. Bucky is a bit curious, but he knows he won’t ask Steve what happened, and he doubts Steve will just tell him. It suits him just fine.

He does notice though, when they all concentrate on the details of their assignment, that Steve seems to forget there is anything but the job at hand, he loses the self-consciousness and focuses completely on the task. She can’t put it away quite as efficiently, and Bucky feels a bit sympathetic towards her for the first time. She may be the one that Steve has feelings for, as he obviously does, but all of that clearly comes second to their effort to take down the HYDRA. Bucky isn’t at all surprised; he’s seen this before, the way Steve puts everything else aside when he sees injustice. It is the thing they fought about most often. He knows it’s not easy coming second, whether it’s to another person or ideals, and to Steve ideals always tended to come first. Maybe when the war is over he will reorganise his priorities, or perhaps the two of them are both idealists enough to make it work. She has to be one as well, otherwise she wouldn’t have made it to the position she holds in the SSR.

Bucky concentrates on his work and it’s only later, when he pauses to adjust his tags that are about to fall out of his collar that he remembers the discussion they had with Steve just the few nights ago, and the confession how it all had definitely not been about ideals when Steve had raided the HYDRA base in Austria alone.

He tries not to dwell on what it means.

 

***

 

It gets easier when they head out to the field, and at the same time harder. Easier in that with the small group the interactions are simpler, and all of them have their own tasks to concentrate on. Travelling at first isn’t really any less boring than it was before, but the easy camaraderie within the group helps.

They start with the HYDRA base in France, since it’s the closest to the Allied forces and they have the best intel on it. It’s not a major factory, hardly more than a warehouse, and it’s only the core team that gets deployed. They are dropped off about a day’s march away from the base to make sure they are not detected, and they continue on foot, keeping an eye out for enemies.

On the way it strikes Bucky again how Steve is so very different from what he remembers. Now he needs a brisk walking pace to keep up, when before he had to consciously slow down, because Steve never asked for it and ended up having an asthma attack if it was a bad day (which was most days, really). Even more striking is the fact that Steve is now taller than him, and apparently even stronger than a man looking like that normally would be. He carries easily a major part of their supplies, and even after hours of marching, when they stop to rest before the raid he doesn’t seem least bit tired.

Bucky keeps reminding himself it’s not actually a stranger he’s following, but it’s harder again to believe it.

They eat and Steve takes the first watch. The rest of the group fall asleep almost instantly, but Bucky doesn’t. It’s not restlessness or nerves, he’s feeling perfectly calm. He just isn’t tired. He knows he should be; while a prisoner he’d been starved and worked too hard and then experimented on, and they really hadn’t had too much time to recover before setting out again. He should be dead on his feet like the rest of them, and instead he’s fine, like he could walk for hours and hours more.

Instead of sleeping he lies in his bedroll and watches Steve who sits on his a little bit away. Sun has set ages ago and they didn’t light a fire to avoid detection, but the moon is full and he can see tolerably well by it. Steve looks pensive, leaning his cheek on his hand, and Bucky might think he was sleeping if he couldn’t see his open eyes. After a while it strikes him how still Steve is, seemingly patiently waiting, and he doesn’t ever remember seeing him like this. Before Steve used to be fidgety, always doing something or moving about, and if he didn’t it meant he was seriously ill. Bucky always thought he had more energy than should fit in his thin frame, and most of it was pure stubborn will that didn’t want to accept the limitations of his body. This stillness is new and unsettling.

Steve had explained the process to him, the injections and vita rays, whatever those even were, and how it had been meant to affect everything about him, every bit of his body. And now Bucky can’t help but think of the changes there has to have been even to his brain and mind, even if they aren’t obvious like the change of his physical shape. To be sure, so far he’s been mostly like the Steve he remembers, except for one with less to prove, more at ease within himself and confident (and isn’t that a terrible thought considering the battles Steve wanted to fight even before). And yet Bucky wonders if there are layers he hasn’t yet noticed, maybe what he sees now is something like that, maybe he hasn’t noticed before because he was afraid to look just in case there is something to find.

It’s hours before he falls asleep, and when Dugan wakes him to take up a watch it feels like he didn’t sleep at all. He’s still not tired.

 

***

 

It is easy that first time, even if they are still getting used to each other and working in a smaller group, not to mention Steve who apparently can just kick reinforced doors open. It’s practical, even if it doesn’t make things any easier for Bucky. Every time Steve does something a human shouldn’t be able to it drives the thought in deeper. His friend really isn’t like he used to be.

Afterwards they joke and laugh, giddy from the spent adrenaline, and why shouldn’t they; none of them have any injuries. They gather all the data they can and their transport actually arrives as planned, and they are gone long before additional HYDRA forces make it to the scene.

It’s not that easy after the first time. There are more guards and the bases are larger and better equipped. There are tanks and guns that deal the blue death. But they are also knitting into a team instead of a group of random people, and they soon come to know each other’s strengths and rely on them.

All through it Bucky watches Steve, this man that is his friend that he knows better than anyone (and he does, it hasn’t changed that he sometimes knows from a quirk of a mouth exactly what Steve is thinking), and that he sometimes feels is a complete stranger.

The physical feats are distracting, but even more so is following Steve’s thought process while planning for missions. Bucky knows Steve has always been smart, despite not doing too well at school; he’d always been too sick for that. Steve always liked working out puzzles and he’d been good at it, probably because he’d had to come up with alternative solutions in so many everyday situations because of his weakness. Now though, it’s on a completely another level. Steve recognizes patterns barely at a glance and he’s good at strategy and can soon hold his own with people that have studied it and have a lot more experience than he has. There’s also the obvious effect on his memory that now seems to work in a very different way from before. Steve can commit things to memory much faster than he used to, especially when it comes to images. It’s especially practical with maps.

All of these things are great for Steve, but they somewhat terrify Bucky, because here is undeniable proof that it wasn’t just Steve’s bones and muscles that changed, it was everything. Even brain, even his thinking. And now that they are in the war, where all the familiar surfaces of their lives seem to have disappeared, Bucky doesn’t even have a reference point for comparison, no familiar things to see how Steve reacts to them.

Well, there is one. Him. And Steve is still as much a friend to him as he has always been, seeking his company and chatting away about things or just sitting there quiet by his side. There is a reassuring familiarity in those moments.

Sometimes he wonders if Steve understands how different he is from before, and finds himself hoping he doesn’t.

They are just about to leave for another mission when news come that something has happened at the base they were supposed to take down next. There had been explosions and the whole place is reduced to rubble. It’s possible that it was an accident, they all know how volatile the HYDRA weapons can be, or perhaps it was some local resistance fighters that destroyed it.

They are deployed to find out more about the situation, and there is an uneasy feeling for the first time among the group, because they don’t quite know what to expect. If the base isn’t there anymore this should be an easy mission, but none of them feel that way.

When they reach their destination in the middle of the forests of Czechoslovakia, the uneasy feeling only intensifies. They search the surrounding area, and find nothing that would suggest HYDRA still has forces nearby. The base itself is indeed completely destroyed, the building reduced into piles of bricks and stones. There are no signs of life.

Finally they decide to take a closer look at the ruins, and as a precaution Steve has Bucky stay up on a hill where he has a good line of sight over most of the ruins, so that he can provide cover if something happens. It’s a new thing, to let Steve walk without him into potentially hostile area. It hasn’t happened yet, they’ve of course done recon by themselves, but when it was actually time to go in, Bucky was always there by Steve’s side. It feels wrong to be so far away.

He settles a little bit better, scanning the area for any signs of trouble. Steve and their team pick their way through the rubble, and at first he sees nothing. Everything seems fine, but he doesn’t let his guard down; he’s seen too many times what happens to soldiers that do.

He’s swinging his scope back towards Steve when he catches movement, and he knows they were right to feel uneasy. It was a trap all along. The HYDRA soldier aims his gun at Steve, who hasn’t seen him yet, but the man is dead before he can even think about pulling the trigger. Bucky reloads without thinking, and in the quiet after the shot he sees Steve raise his hand in a salute towards him. Even if he isn’t right by Steve’s side, he can still reach him and make sure he’s safe. It has to be enough.

The quiet doesn’t last, more HYDRA soldiers pop up from the ruins then, but they have no chance really. Bucky drops three more, and then the battle is done, their team safe and the enemies down. They don’t find anything useful from the ruins.

Later they hear from the spies that it was indeed meant to be a trap; HYDRA destroyed the base themselves to lure them in and kill them.

 

***

 

Between missions they check back to base, sometimes in London headquarters, sometimes a temporary base somewhere else Colonel Phillips has seen it best to set up camp. And it should be simpler, safer, and it isn’t at all. Regardless of all the weirdness of the situation and especially Steve, on the mission they all have roles and there’s no politics, just a goal to be achieved. In the city it’s different; there are so many more people, and one’s value is not determined as much by worth but how well one plays the political game. Bucky remembers he used to be good at it before the war. He knew how to say the right thing, how to keep people’s attention or to distract them, whichever was necessary. Now he doesn’t seem to quite remember how to do that anymore.

Steve is the only one that by virtue of being Captain America doesn’t really need to play politics, although Bucky sees soon enough that in some ways Steve still does, being stubborn sometimes to an excessive degree, giving up gracefully some other times, only to get what he wants in the end. It helps that Steve is only really interested in getting the job done and not gaining power beyond that.

And then there is Agent Carter, always capable and prepared. Bucky tries to step on the instinct to snarl whenever he sees how Steve looks at her like she’s the only person in the room for just a few seconds after they come back from a mission before snapping back into debriefing mode. It doesn’t even make sense, because he’s set Steve up on enough double dates (tried at least), and isn’t this what he wanted anyway? For someone to look at Steve like she does. Because for all that she stays serious and seemingly unaffected by Steve whenever there’s crowd, Bucky knows it’s only a facade, a protection, and that in more private circumstances it’s very different. Only times she seems to let go is when Steve doesn’t even see it happen, when he’s absorbed by the work and comes up with something brilliant, those are the moment she let’s it show on her face that she’s impressed. It’s always real, and it’s good for Steve, he truly knows that now that he’s figured out that she actually cares about Steve, not Captain America. And yet there’s the little part of him that keeps snarling,  _I was here first_ , even if it doesn’t make any sense. It’s not like Steve will stop being his friend.

After debriefing they head to town (except for Steve who stays with the other officers), and Bucky separates himself from the others. The sun has set hours earlier and there are plenty of people still walking about. He feels more natural on the streets and in the darkness, away from the rigid military protocol. For tonight he just wants things to be simple again.

It doesn’t take long before he comes upon a woman just as he had intended, and he lets her lead him to a tiny apartment in a shabbier part of town. It’s barely furnished but neat and well taken care of, which is a pleasant surprise, not that he looks around the place much, he’s there for her. Or for himself, really.

And she is lovely, lithe and smooth-skinned, with curling blond hair and huge eyes. Tiny and slim, and she has soft mouth and skillful hands. He tries to let himself be lost in her, tries to just feel her warmth in contrast to the winter-cool apartment. He tries to think of nothing else, and it almost works. Almost. Afterwards they lie on the bed, she half on top of him, and he runs his hand up and down her back, counting the vertebra, feeling her skin cooling in the chill air. She’s a picture of health which is rare enough for women in her position, her heartbeat is steady and strong under his hand, her breath even against his throat.

He has to get out.

It’s started raining, he notices when he’s back on the street and he hunches his shoulders but doesn’t otherwise try and shield himself from it. He doesn’t know what the night has made him feel, except that he didn’t find what he was looking for. He’d dressed in quiet, not like before when he would have talked to her, joked, maybe promised to come back regardless of whether he meant it or not. He would have smiled and she would have been charmed. Now those days feel like they happened in another lifetime, and really, so they did. He doesn’t smile, and he knows he’ll never go back.

He doesn’t go to a bar either, just heads to their quarters. He passed the building assigned to officers and there is a light at the window he knows belongs to the room assigned to Steve. For a second he thinks of going up to say something, he doesn’t even know what. Only for a second, and then he’s past the window, walking towards his quarters.

He briefly wakes up when Dum Dum comes in and collapses on his bed without bothering to undress. Next time there’s faint grey light of dawn coming through the window.

 

***

 

The way it goes is officers and other equivalent personnel, like Stark, mostly associate with each other, and the rest of the men move in their own circles, and pretty much the only mixing happens when giving and receiving orders. Steve of course doesn't care a pin about these customs, and moves from group to group as he feels like.

It is strange for Bucky, because now Steve has a circle of people where he doesn't have access. Even when they are being briefed or debriefed, on the missions by Colonel Phillips and Agent Carter or on new technology by Stark and both he and Steve are there, he keenly feels that he's the outsider, there just for the work, while the rest of them interact elsewhere as well. If he's honest with himself, and he still has dignity enough to be, he doesn't like it. Not at all. Ever since he met Steve, dragged him out of a fight at school, he doesn't remember a time when Steve had something like this, something he wasn't welcome to. There was the art that sometimes was very solitary, but it was Steve's alone. Now there are people that see Steve when he can't. Truth is though, he doesn't have a right to be angry or jealous, because most of their lives he was part of circles where Steve hadn't really been welcome, no matter how hard Bucky had tried to make him. Only difference is that back then it had been that the others hadn't seen the worth of Steve and now, he can't help but think that things are exactly as they should be.

Steve has ascended to the place he belongs, and Bucky is getting left behind. He always thought it would happen sooner or later. Had dreaded the day that is finally there.

It's a circle that feeds itself; there's the divide between officers and the rest of men, as a result he withdraws, and Steve notices but doesn't probably quite understand what's happening, but still is so damn accommodating and gives Bucky his space, which drives them further apart. A part of him, some sick miserable part, wants it and the rest of him hates it, and he can only laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. He withdraws, and he watches.

It's kind of like a dance, and Steve never really learned how to, but it doesn't seem to matter now. It's clear that Agent Carter has set her sights on Steve, and it shouldn't make Bucky angry but it does. From what Steve has told him, he knows they got to know each other before Steve received the serum, and that they had connected already then. He knows she's smart, and it's not really surprising that she would see the real Steve, the greatness that there was already back then. And part of him can't help but be bitter, to think, _It still wasn't good enough for you, was it? Had to go and make him a literal superman._ And it's unfair, because she was just doing her job the best she could, and it was what Steve wanted, it made him healthy, gave him at least a chance to live beyond thirty, not to mention Steve really is the best person for this. And still Bucky hates it, hates what the serum has done and hates everyone that had anything to do with it. Except for Steve, and it really is his lowest point, the little part of him that wants to, that thinks everything would be easier if he did.

He doesn't hate Steve, can't even imagine a situation where he would.

And he hopes Steve will get everything he hopes for from this, although them being in the war he isn't feeling too optimistic.

 

***

 

They go on other missions, sometimes short and flashy, sometimes weeks and weeks spent in trenches, and gradually the winter gives up and then all of a sudden it seems it’s summer. Things become a lot easier then; since the amount of supplies needed is smaller and shelter isn’t such a pressing question, they can move about more freely.

The regular army starts advancing more again, but for them, the Howling Commandos as they are now called, things wind down for a bit. HYDRA seems to have become more careful, as if they too are waiting for something. They know that there is a HYDRA base, maybe their main headquarters, that they have yet to discover, and as time passed there is the underlying knowledge that HYDRA must be coming closer to reaching their goal independent of Hitler’s. Nothing happens though.

Working with Steve, there is another aspect that they have to do, and that is to shoot propaganda videos for the home front, that’s really what they are. All the apparent combat action is acted, although sometimes there are cameras filming them when they prepare or during transport. These parts are more real, but Bucky suspects those are the ones that’ll get less attention. The people responsible for the films aren’t interested in portraying the actual men but an idea. They don’t care about what they have to say and on group shots they try to frame them so that Gabe and Jim are on the edges or not even in picture. Bucky is tired of all the charades and feels relieved every time they get back on actual missions again. He knows Steve is too.

The summer feels long, longer than the winter for some reason for all that it is easier, so much so that Bucky starts to hope. There are thoughts he lets back to the top of his mind, of future, of after the war. There are dreams of what it would be for him after, that there could be something after. For the longest time he had been sure he’d never see his home again. And there is bitterness mixed into the dream, because he knows things will never go back to what they were before the war.

As spring advanced, it seemed Steve’s patience with him withdrawing also had come to an end. Once after a mission, when the rest of commandos had scattered into the city and Bucky is still in his room there’s a knock on the door, and when he opens it Steve walks in, tosses him a bottle of whisky and collapses into a chair in a corner. He had expected Steve to go to dinner with other officers, but here he is.

“Honestly, I just couldn’t stand being around people anymore,” Steve says, and Bucky knows exactly what he’s talking about.

After they’d moved together with Steve when Mrs. Rogers died, he’d found out a new part of Steve, the way he sometimes just couldn’t handle being in the crowd. He liked company pretty much as anyone, but not all the time, it was like he just needed to rest from people, same as others needed rest from exercise. It had taken a while for Bucky to understand, but he’d come to respect these moments and how Steve just sometimes got quiet (although he never seemed to need to be _away_ from Bucky which had always made him irrationally pleased). It often included Steve’s art, painting or drawing, and suddenly Bucky realises he doesn’t even remember the last time he’s seen Steve draw into the little sketchbook he knows Steve carries with him.

He doesn’t pursue the thought, and only remarks lightly, “Implying that I’m not people.”

“I guess you don’t count,” Steve says, and Bucky would have to be a lot stupider than he is to not know it means the exact opposite.

They end up sitting at the window, drinking mostly in silence but it is easy and companionable, and Bucky feels a pressure easing in his heart. It is just like before; he remembers countless hours of just being with Steve, not talking and never bored. This is the first time he believes that even though everything is different, this, what they have between them, is still the same as ever.

 

***

 

After that one evening things change; he doesn’t seek solitude as much as he did, and Steve spends still more time with him and the rest of the team. Bucky still bristles at Agent Carter, but it lacks heat and sometimes he forgets to watch her and Steve and just concentrates on the work. Truth is that he doesn’t really hate her, for all that he resents her involvement in Project Rebirth. He keeps seeing time and again how capable she is, and the frustration that she isn’t allowed to do more, and that has made him respect her. Bucky knows that if she was a man, things would be very different for her, perhaps for everyone, because if she’d been found first even then, in all likelihood she would have been given the serum. Bucky can’t help but think that the men responsible for the project should have just taken their heads off their asses and given it to her anyway, since she’s every bit as worthy as Steve.

Everything would have been different then, Steve would probably still be in New York, he might still be a prisoner of HYDRA, although maybe that would have gone differently as well. Maybe they both would already be dead. He doesn’t even know what he wants anymore.

There is the boredom of the long missions, but there is also camaraderie, joking in the group or just with Steve, sitting quiet around a campfire. Telling an outrageous joke and getting hip-checked so hard by Steve that he ends up falling in the river. In the end the whole group is stumbling out of the river dripping wet and barely able to stand because they’re all laughing so hard.

There are these brief moments, when he really is happy, and afterwards he always feels guilty, because they are in a war, people are starving and hurting and dying, and yet, he can’t believe it’s wrong in the end to be happy. It’s how they get by.

They are at the trenches again, fighting a group of HYDRA soldiers. It’s almost done, and the team is clearing the last bit of enemy dugouts. It’s risky, going into the dark places even after they’ve thrown in grenades, and in all likelihood soldiers in are injured. It’s grim work, very different from sniping because here they are literally taking lives away with their own hands, guns and knives, covered in blood both of enemies and their own. Bucky knows it’s likely that they won’t sleep that well that night and that back in London the whole group, with the exception of Steve, will get roaring drunk first chance they get.

He follows at Steve’s wake step by step guarding his rear, killing and killing again. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, just that they’ve almost reached the end. In other directions the sounds of combat are dying down, and it seems that the day is theirs.

Steve pulls the pin, tosses the next grenade and moves in right after the explosion, it’s the same as everywhere, dead and dying, no threat in sight and Bucky moves towards another corner, when he notices a makeshift barrier of supplies and the man rising from behind it, aiming his guns at Steve’s back. Bucky thinks he must yell a warning as he rushes the man with his knife drawn (he’d run out of bullet ages ago), because Steve half turns right when the man fires his gun once, twice, and then Bucky is on him and the HYDRA soldier is dead. For a moment all he hears is his own breathing and somehow he’s scared to look at Steve.

And then Steve crouches next to him asking, “Are you alright?”

Steve looks worried all for him, even though he’s pressing his left hand at his right side and is letting his right arm just hang; clearly he’s hurt. Bucky makes himself manage, “Fine. Let’s get out of here.”

He’d been right about the fight being almost over; when they emerge he sees their allies moving about, not taking cover anymore. It’s then that it really hits him that Steve is hurt, and the numbness that had taken hold of him inside breaks. He makes Steve sit down, even though he protests that he’s well enough to walk, but Bucky shoots him down, and it’s all just very familiar. Steve must think so too, because suddenly he actually laughs and just says, “Sure, Buck,” mellow like he never was before. Now that he doesn’t have to keep proving he’s not weak, apparently Steve can let himself rest.

He comes back with Jim, who sets upon working on Steve, and after a while the rest of their team wanders towards them as well. They all have scrapes and bruises and Monty has a wound that’s already dressed on his arm, but Steve’s injuries are still the most serious, or at least would be if he healed like a normal person. One of the bullets scraped his side, it’s a long gash that Jim stitches closed neatly, and the other one hit on the shoulder and lodged into a bone. On a normal person it would probably result into a reduced mobility of the arm, and even Steve will take some healing. Dum Dum hands him a bottle of some dubious looking alcohol that Steve takes a mouthful of, even though they all know it’ll do nothing for him, and Jim digs the bullet out.

It’s only later, when they’ve eaten and he sits alone at the edge of the camp, that it really hits him how close Steve came to dying that day. There have been close calls before, for all of them, but this time Steve was actually hurt and it shakes him. If Steve hadn’t turned around right that moment, maybe the bullet would have found its intended target and he would have gone down. Maybe maybe maybe. Maybe if Steve hadn’t met Erskine he wouldn’t be here and wouldn’t have been hurt, but at least the serum ensures he’ll heal perfectly. Again Bucky doesn’t know if he should be grateful or angry.

He makes himself ease his grip of the tags inside his fist so that they won’t dig into his flesh. He imagines he can almost feel Steve’s name pressing against his skin, and he suddenly wonders if Carter knows about the tags and what she would think. He doesn’t think it very likely; he doesn’t think it’s something Steve would talk about with her, because it was about Bucky’s problems, and Steve was always good at keeping secrets (even if he wasn’t too good at concealing that he had a secret). And he knows she wouldn’t have seen, because he knows that for all there is between them, Steve and Carter haven’t moved ahead with the relationship, and he knows exactly why. He knows her intellect, and he also knows what most people would think of her if she was in a relationship with anyone on the front, especially someone as prominent as Captain America. She wouldn’t take the risk that she’d lose the respect she has, especially when it’s barely a fraction of what she actually deserves. Hence she waits, and she’s lucky that Steve is the kind of person who can also wait.

Sometimes Bucky also thinks that both Steve and Carter are just so driven in their work that even if there weren’t other concerns, they still would wait until the war is over. They both seem to have very goal driven personalities, and Bucky can see that they will butt heads over things if they ever get together after the war. He also believes that if they both make a commitment, they’ll probably work through all the differences. And the first time he feels truly and honestly happy for Steve for her, despite the little voice in his head that he does his best to drown.

And he also feels sad thinking that for all that she loves Steve, it’s still not all of Steve that she loves, because she doesn’t know all of Steve. Even though she’s not one of those who only appreciated Steve after he became strong and healthy, she still only met Steve when he was consumed by war, by wanting to fight. All the time she’s known him, that has been driving Steve.

Bucky knows another Steve, one that he fears may be forever gone, one that lived for art, whose dreams were full of light and terror and shadows, all fragile when just imagined, all beautiful when brought to life on canvas or paper. He remembers the Steve who, even though he still fought for the right cause, wanted more than anything to be artist. Sometimes he doesn’t think Steve even remembers it anymore. Bucky will, though, to the end of his days.

He’s so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t even hear Steve before he’s sitting down next to him, settling in to lean on the tree with him, the uninjured shoulder pressed against Bucky’s.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I am resting, sitting down right here, doing nothing. Besides, it’s much better already.”

They fall into silence for a bit, and then Steve rests his hand for a moment on Bucky’s knee and murmurs, barely audible, “Thanks, Buck.”

He doesn’t know what would be the right way to answer, so he doesn’t say anything. Steve doesn’t seem to be disappointed, just settles in even closer to him and dozes off.

Even half an hour later Bucky can still feel the outline of Steve’s hand on his leg, the touch burning far more than it should even with Steve’s naturally elevated body temperature.

 

***

 

The winter comes early: it’s almost straight from summer to winter, like the world forgot there is such a thing as fall. They wait for news from their spies about HYDRA, about their hidden headquarters, their plans or timetable but there is nothing they can act on. It’s harder for the regular troops again, and when a part of them become stranded and cut off by HYDRA forces and even after a month can’t break free, the commandos are sent to help.

It takes them time and all their skills and intellect, but in the end after three gruelling weeks they break through, and the HYDRA troops are forced to scatter for long enough that the trapped men can reach safety.

When they reach the base camp they started off from, they are all pretty much dead on their feet, because they’ve been pushing with very little sleep and food. Most of the team eat a meal and then collapse in their tents. Bucky knows he should be exhausted, and he is tired, but not like the others. Steve of course is different, definitely not looking at his best but he would still be able to take off on another mission if needed. And Bucky, while not quite as fresh, is still closer to Steve’s state than the others’, and he knows he shouldn’t be. He hasn’t had it any easier, he did more long recon periods than anyone and yet, he could keep going at the same pace for a while at least.

It’s getting harder and harder to ignore the nagging feeling that he himself isn’t quite like he used to be. Hasn’t been since Austria. He knows his stamina is increased and he seems to be healing faster, although it’s difficult to determine because for all that they’re in a war he hasn’t been wounded, and keeping a track of bruises is pretty much futile. Sometimes he thinks he can see better and that his hands are steadier on the rifle, but he can’t be sure of it.

He hasn’t talked about it with anyone, nor will he unless he has to. It doesn’t stop him from silently wondering, _What did they do to me?_

 

***

 

They are in Paris on a leave, sitting in a tiny bar. Steve is in his regular captain’s uniform, and no one recognizes them, even though Bucky’s seen Captain America posters and films being shown even here. They are seen as just another group of Allied soldiers, and that means people tend to be friendly; it has been like that since the city was liberated. They’re drinking mostly brandy, and the team is starting to be quite drunk. Steve is obviously an exception, the same as ever (and it is still odd to Bucky, because he remembers a time one didn’t need much more than a glass to make Steve tipsy), and because of that Steve tends to drink much less than the others, just savoring the taste.

And then there’s Bucky, who’s had more glasses than he remembers and yet he barely feels a buzz. He tries to deny it, ordering yet another, desperately trying to reach the state of drunkenness, because he really should already be there, and he isn’t. He knows Steve has been eyeing him for a while now, and he can feel the familiar eyes on him again when he knocks the drink back and then raises his hand to order another. He doesn’t though, because Steve’s hand closes around his larger and warmer than it should be and yet somehow still undeniably the same as before.

“I think you’ve had enough, I don’t feel like carrying you back.”

He doesn’t mean to say it, to tell the truth and yet he does. “I’m not really drunk though.”

It doesn’t really matter because Steve just quirks his mouth, obviously amused. “I’ve heard that one before, and remember really wanting to dump you into a ditch when you couldn’t properly walk. Might do it this time. Come on Buck, up you get.”

He gets off the stool, and he’s not quite steady on his feet, but not in danger of falling over either. He doesn’t listen to what Steve says to their team or their response (probably something jokey to do with his lack of endurance, and aren’t they wrong there), he just lets Steve’s hand on his back guide him to the street. The air is cool on his face and maybe the alcohol has in fact done something, because he feels feverish and light headed, and he stumbles on a loose cobblestone. Steve just laughs, “Yeah, clearly you’re not drunk,” and pulls his arm over his still too wide shoulders to support him on the way back to their quarters.

It feels somehow familiar, for all that they are in a city Bucky’s never been to before, that Steve is taller and bigger than him and that there is a mess in his head that somebody probably put there although he doesn’t remember. There have been many nights when the two of them made their way home late at night, from a bar of somewhere else, one leaning on the other for support. He knows Steve says something every once in a while, maybe comments on things they pass, but he doesn’t really listen, and it doesn’t seem like Steve is expecting any response either.

It’s like all of his consciousness is concentrated on where he’s touching Steve, his arm around the shoulders, his hand that Steve holds on to, the occasional brush of hips against each other. Every nerve feels so alive, and nothing else matters.

It’s not a long way back and Steve takes Bucky to his room (Bucky doesn’t even notice when Steve finds his key) and is about to drop him into his bed and presumably say goodnight and leave, when Bucky finally fully regains the control of his limbs.

He wouldn’t call it something he wants, because truly he doesn’t know what he wants, hasn’t known since he opened his eyes on the metal table in Austria too see Steve in his new form. All he knows now is that he can’t handle the thought of Steve walking away right then, even if it’s just to the room next door.

He finds his balance and crowds into Steve who seems startled by the sudden change. And then, decidedly not thinking what he’s doing he grabs Steve’s collar and pulls him closer and kisses him. He doesn’t know what he expected would happen, maybe he didn’t expect anything, since this isn’t something he’s ever let himself think of doing before, but it certainly isn’t what actually happens. For a second Steve just stands there, stiff and surprised and then. And then Steve parts his lips and lets out a sound that Bucky feels more than hears, because it sends shivers through him from the tip of his toes to the top of his head.

Steve lays his hands on Bucky’s waist and maybe they’re more shaky than sure, but he pulls Bucky closer, fitting him against his body.

Later Bucky wakes up into pale morning light, and he would think it all was just a dream constructed of barely potent alcohol and confused want that he’s tried to put down for years, except Steve is still there next to him, stretched out in slumber, fingers of one hand lightly closed around Bucky’s left bicep. He’s perfectly relaxed, even the habitual frown between his eyebrows gone, just a smooth stretch of mostly unmarred skin. Steve doesn’t even stir when Bucky runs his fingers across the two imperfections, two almost disappeared scars from bullets that hit him in the summer.

Soon they will have to rise and leave for another mission, and Bucky doesn’t know what happens now, to them, to everything, and he doesn’t want to think of it now. Now he lightly brushes his lips on the fading scar on Steve’s right shoulder and goes back to sleep.

 

***

 

Funnily enough, it doesn’t really change anything. Steve is the same as ever, and Bucky finds it’s not at all difficult act like he has for the past months. It doesn’t even feel like an act, like he’s hiding something. There’s no awkwardness at all.

They head out based on half confirmed reports that Zola will be on the way between bases, and this is seen as a prime opportunity to capture a high-ranking HYDRA member, which they haven’t yet managed to do. They move to position in the mountains while they wait for confirmation. The route and timetable is confirmed as certainly as they can be, and they spend the last night in a little thicket at the mountainside near the tracks. The plan for getting on the train is crazy like only Steve’s plans sometimes are, but it’ll most likely work.

Bucky is on watch, huddled by their little fire, his comrades sleeping near him. He knows precisely the moment when Steve wakes up from the way his breathing changes, even before he moves. For a while Steve just lies there, blinking at the moonlit sky, and then he gets up, crosses to Bucky with his bedroll and after a moment of settling they’re warm and snug, covered by both their blankets. Bucky leans into Steve who is entirely too warm despite the freezing temperatures. They’ve done this countless times before, in the winter and war a lot of personal boundaries are forgotten in favor of warmth.

Except this time Steve laces his fingers into Bucky’s, that has never happened before.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he whispers, just to say something.

“Nah, I’m fine. I get by with much less these days, and we haven’t even been pushing. You can sleep if you need to, I can keep watch.”

“No, I’m not sleepy.” Bucky doesn’t sleep much these days either, but it’s more that his brain doesn’t let him sleep sometimes, even if he should.

For a while they sit there listening the quiet forest, but there’s nothing around, feels like they are the only living creatures within miles.

Finally Bucky breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Stevie.” The name rolls from his tongue easily, even though it’s the first time he’s used it since he left America.

“For what?” Steve asks, genuinely confused.

“Just that, this isn’t what I wanted for you, and it’s all selfish of me to want you to still be back home, but I do. Well, part of me at least, and I know it’s a selfish part, because that’s not how you wanted, and it’s no use anyway but it’s still there.”

He can’t make himself look at Steve, who is silent for a moment but then squeezes his hand.

“You’re right about that I want to be here, since there’s the war, but if it wasn’t, if we were back home, I think that life would be good. And I’m sorry too.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“For not telling you and being a stubborn idiot. And for asking you to be here even though you don’t want it. I know you never wanted to come here at all and I wish you could have had a different life.”

It’s true and entirely false at the same time.

“Don’t you dare being sorry for asking me to come, I never would have let you do this alone.”

“I know, but still.”

“Well, at least you’re healthier now, that is a good thing. Not getting all breathless out of exertion, that’s good.” Bucky adds the last bit a little mischievously, and isn’t at all surprised to see a blush rising on Steve’s cheeks.

“Well, it’s not like my chances of living past thirty have increased that much anyway,” Steve says very dry and deflecting as he usually does when he’s embarrassed, but it’s like a punch right at the sternum.

“You promise me you’ll live, hear me?” It’s altogether more pleading than he intended but he doesn’t care.

“Buck…”

“No, please, just promise me that you don’t do anything stupid, that you get back home.”

Steve is utterly serious when he looks at Bucky. “It’s a war. And promises like that are hard to keep, you know how little can change things. But I promise I’ll try, it’s all I can. And I have you, it seems to have been enough until now.”

Bucky leans into Steve not relieved, but calmer. It’s true, he will be there with Steve, he’ll make sure that Steve will get through.

In the morning they move on to the cliff from which they have a perfect view of the tracks, and he is full of determination. It’s just another mission to get through.

 

***

 

(He won’t know that the first letter he wrote, the one he never sent, was found by Steve inside the book, read and tucked inside a pocket. Later it is dissolved in Arctic seawater, lost forever, but the words he wrote are never forgotten, not even during decades of dreamless sleep.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry your life is this difficult Bucky, and even more so because it gets worse.
> 
> I actually didn't mean for them to get together in this one, just have Bucky pining hopelessly (because I'm terrible), but Paris just was there, and well. Things happened. Then I had to go and comb through [the map of my heart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4356095/chapters/9882140) to see if I'd already posted anything that would contradict it(this is a prequel to that after all), and apparently not, all the rewriting will be in the drafts.
> 
> They are very uncooperative when they feel like it...
> 
> Title is from _If not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho_ , translated by Anne Carson, fragment 52.


End file.
